A Mission Failed
by Morninglight
Summary: An Aureliiverse AU. Lia bint Rustem was supposed to help the Stormcloaks win the civil war in Skyrim to prevent the return of Alduin. Fate had other plans.


Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Moar Skyrim AU involving the Aurelii. Trigger warnings for violence, torture, war crimes and death. I've created a reason for why everyone – even the Dragonborn – is being treated as a rebel and executed, so I've created a brutal Legion policy. In short, this is Blade!Lia.

…

"Hey, you! Finally awake, eh?"

Lia bint Rustem winced as the cold light of a Skyrim morning, too bright through the pulsing of her headache in time to her heartbeat, penetrated eyes shut tightly against it. She had faked her unconsciousness to gather herself against the trials that would surely ensue from her capture by General Tullius' forces at Darkwater Crossing. If she survived this, the Alik'r would never let her forget this, and if she failed in her mission… The world itself would follow. On _that_, her uncle Irkand, Grand Master of the Alik'r, had been emphatic.

"Apparently so," she said, grimacing as she sat up, the blood rushing through veins that constricted like iron bands upon her brain. She quickly rectified that, quietly casting a healing spell that eased the pain, if nothing else. Unless one of the Legionnaires looked closely, she would simply look like the weak sunlight had penetrated the scudding clouds overheard for a few heartbeats.

"Got caught by those Imperial bastards crossing the border, eh?" the Nord who'd spoken, a typically golden-haired specimen of his kind, asked with rough sympathy. He was handsome enough with those regular features, his fair skin too unlined for the keenness of those ice-blue eyes. Like the other Nords but for one in the wagon (two if Lia was counted), he wore chainmail swathed in rough blue cotton and furs. Stormcloaks, the Nords who wanted to throw a corrupt and dying Empire out of their snowbound country. The very people she had been sent to contact.

Lia felt the corner of her mouth lift in dark amusement. The winds of the gods often worked in such ways, allowing one to achieve their goals but in a deeply ironic or inconvenient manner.

"We're not supposed to be here. We're not rebels!" babbled the horse-thief diagonally across from her. "You have to tell them!"

"The Legion doesn't care when they're in the mood to crucify someone," Lia noted dispassionately. "Horse-thief or not, it looked like Tullius wants to perform the _carnificina,_ the executioner's work. Everyone captured in a radius of about a mile from one set point – obviously the Stormcloaks' tundra camp – is executed, often painfully, as an example to other would-be freedom fighters. That includes you and me, horse-thief."

Judging the sharp smell of fresh urine, the horse-thief wouldn't be dining in Sovngarde at the end of this. Lia sighed, shaking her head in disgust. It was disheartening to meet a Nord coward on her first and last day in the homeland of her mother.

"You seem familiar with Tullius," the Stormcloak murmured as the horse-thief devolved into a litany of prayers and complaints about the rebels.

"If not for the Stormcloaks, the Alik'r would have been facing Tullius," Lia admitted softly. "My uncle believes strongly in knowing your enemy better than he knows himself."

The Grand Master who had refined a tribal militia into the successors of the late Blades was alarmed when he heard of the rebellion. So he had enacted a twofold plan: Kematu and his band to collect the traitors Iman and Nazir al-Sudra, to draw the Legion's eyes away from his stiletto, the only member of the Alik'r he could trust as his right hand, to contact Ulfric Stormcloak and end this war.

From the looks of it, Tullius had either outmanoeuvred Irkand al-Aurelii or his famous luck had come into play.

"I first thought you one of Hrafn's kin from Half-Moon Hold," the chatty Stormcloak confessed as he leaned back against the wagon's side. "Then I heard the Hammerfell accent and realised my mistake."

Lia allowed herself another smirk of dark amusement. "Hrafn is my maternal uncle; my paternal uncle is Redguard," she told him. "I'd intended to visit my Norc kin but Tullius showed up."

A muffled grunt drew their attention to the hitherto-silent fourth passenger on the wagon. Blondish-brown hair speckled with silver was braided around a rough-hewn face, sea-green eyes sharp as shards of obsidian regarding the world with the jagged edge of a man who had been broken and forced to piece himself back together. His chainmail, furs and blue cotton were finer than the other Stormcloaks while the gag shoved into his mouth provided the final clue to his identity.

Lia bowed, somewhat mockingly given their current circumstances and her bound hands. "Jarl Ulfric, this wasn't quite how I'd planned to meet you," she said dryly. "I am Lia bint Rustem al-Aurelii of the Alik'r."

Ulfric grunted, the sound wry, as they rolled under Helgen's gate.

The golden-blond Nord frowned. "Rustem, that name is vaguely familiar…"

"My father was the First and my grandfather Grand Master of the Blades," Lia admitted blithely, albeit softly. She would need to escape or die swiftly; she began plans for either eventuality. "I was sent to meet with the Stormcloaks but Tullius happened."

As they cleared the gate, Lia saw an elegant Altmer woman in black robes on a fine bay horse and allowed herself a soft curse. Elenwen, no doubt ready to make sure that two thorns in her foot were dead… or to take custody of them.

The Alik'r woman looked to Ulfric, expression grim. "Neither of us can fall into her hands," she said quietly. "I have enough magic to unbind my hands and remove your gag. We must strike hard and fast to either escape… or die. Is this acceptable to you?"

Those sea-green eyes regarded her for a moment before Ulfric very deliberately nodded. Lia returned his gesture and very carefully began to weave filaments of Telekinesis through the knotted leather cords on her wrists.

General Tullius, a stocky Colovian with the shortness associated with the West Wealde clan from whence he came, turned on Elenwen with the curtness of a man toeing the line of politesse and guided his horse to the headsman's block nearby. "If I must do this, I'll make it clean," he muttered in his West Wealde brogue.

Lia smiled brightly at the horse-thief. "Cheer up, no crucifixion for us!"

His response was to pray harder.

Her bonds were loose enough to rip open by the time the cart wheeled to a stop and the prisoners marched off, one by one. She walked slowly, loosening Ulfric's gag until his tongue could push the cloth out, and found herself behind some dark-haired Stormcloak, the horse-thief and the golden-blond have-a-chat. The Quaestor taking their names was plain-faced and soft-spoken.

"Ralof of Riverwood," he intoned, a hint of… pain? Yes, it was pain in that soft voice.

"I hope the silk skirt's worth your soul, Hadvar," Ralof said in disgust. "Tell me, does the General buy you dinner first-"

"You can't catch me!" the horse-thief proclaimed, running as fast as he could for the gate. The archers used him for target practice with practiced efficiency. No Sovngarde for Whathisname.

Ulfric was marched out in front of Tullius, who proceeded to lecture him about matters he had no understanding about like heroism, honour and loyalty. The Empire had failed both the Ra Gada and the Nords, so the rebellions of the Alik'r and Stormcloaks were justified.

_"Habens familiaritatem cum matre vestra hedum in lectulo,"_ Lia remarked pleasantly to the Imperial Captain, a woman whose dark skin proclaimed Ra Gada heritage, as she turned away from ordering the execution of Horse-Thief Nithingsson.

Apparently the Captain found the assertion that her mother was acquainted with goats in bed insulting, judging by the way she punched Lia in the jaw with casual brutality. Except Lia spent the last of her magicka on a Stoneflesh spell to harden her flesh, meaning that the Captain's fist – woefully ungauntleted – collided with enough force to break her hand. As she yelled, Lia snapped her bonds and spun her around to use as a human shield against the archers.

Three arrows slammed into the Captain, the sudden dead weight pulling her corpse from Lia's hands.

_"Zun Haal Viik!"_

Ulfric's voice – no, Voice – thundered out and disarmed General Tullius. With more pragmatism than she expected from the Nordiest Nord to ever walk through Nordtown, he pulled out a boot-knife and placed it at Tullius' throat. "We leave now or the General dies," he announced in a wonderfully rich baritone.

"Fire at will," Tullius commanded the archers. "No man isn't worth letting Ulfric Stormcloak walk away."

In the awkward silence that ensued, an eerie noise echoed across the Jerall Mountains. "What was that?" Hadvar the Quaestor asked worriedly.

"Nothing. Fire at will, soldier!" Tullius was remarkably calm for a man with a Nord knife at his throat.

The cry sounded again, a noise that shook Lia to the soul. It wasn't _nothing_, it was-

_Oh shit. I've failed in my ultimate mission,_ Lia thought distantly as the black dragon, terrible in form and presence, landed upon the tower.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Tullius blurted, actually sounding scared.

"Alduin, meet General Tullius. General Tullius, meet Alduin World-Eater!" Lia responded as she dove for cover.

The end of all things introduced himself by way of a terrible Shout that brought flaming rocks from the sky. It was such a villainous cliché that Lia found herself laughing hysterically as she struggled to her feet to dart for the tower.

Helgen degenerated into every man and mer for himself, Tullius ordering the soldiers to kill Alduin – HA! – and get the townsfolk to safety. Most of the Legionnaires around here were Nords, likely brought up on tales of the World-Eater, so they did the latter. If anywhere could be safe with Alduin returned to devour the world.

Lia joined forces with the golden-blond Nord – whose name was Ralof – and the other Stormcloaks. Ulfric had been lost in the confusion; she hoped he survived, because no other Stormcloak Jarl had the presence to keep the Nord rebellion together.

"How do you Nords kill people with these things?" she asked after taking too long to hack down an Imperial with the iron axe she'd scavenged from a dead Stormcloak. She wanted a good scimitar or katana.

Ralof raised an eyebrow as she switched the axe for a Legion gladius. "Norcs prefer axes and maces," he observed.

"I was raised in Hammerfell by a Blade. Scimitars and katanas are elegant weapons from a more civilised age," she retorted, swinging the officer's issue weapon with a sigh.

"My condolences," Ralof answered with all sincerity. "You'll find more axes here than curved swords."

"I hope that isn't an analogy for penises or I will be greatly disappointed," Lia countered dryly as she turned to go deeper into the pits of Helgen Keep.

They came across Legion interrogators performing their obligatory torture and Lia demonstrated the classic Left-Hand Aberrant Cut – Irkand had trained her to be ambidextrous – across the chief torturer's throat. The Alik'r had picked up many tricks from the Blades – kindness and liberal use of Illusion got better results than torture.

Alduin tried to Shout the Keep over their heads but eventually – after four giant spiders, three foolish Legionnaires, two false alarms and one dead bear that Ralof insisted on skinning himself – they found daylight and watched the World-Eater fly away.

"Well, _shit,_" Lia breathed once they'd stopped hiding behind the boulder. "I hope the Dragonborn's found soon or we'll go kicking down the black bastard's throat."

"So, it's the end times…" Ralof raked back sweaty blond hair. "I'll die fighting regardless."

"Many will," Lia confirmed sombrely. "As soon as word reached Hammerfell Jarl Ulfric had killed High King Torygg in ritual combat, my uncle sent me here to help the Stormcloaks achieve victory _quickly_ so that Skyrim wouldn't be riven by Alduin. The Blades knew about the Prophecy of the Dragonborn and… well… _shit._"

Ralof patted her shoulder comfortingly. "If not in this time, another time," he said fatalistically. "We need to move quickly. I have family in Riverwood that will gladly hide us."

"And if your friend Hadvar survived, that will be the first place they look," Lia pointed out.

"Riverwood was in Alduin's path," he told her grimly. "I must warn my family."

Lia clasped the Nord's forearm in the universal warrior's gesture. "Go then. I'll find my way to Windhelm."

"Go to Whiterun." Ralof rummaged around in his beltpouch and handed her every septim he had. "Jarl Balgruuf is neutral at present but if you warn him about Alduin – and what happened here today – he may be swayed to our side. I know the man hates war but… we need Whiterun. And after today, no man may remain neutral."

"I will." Lia nodded and clasped his forearm again. "Talos guide and guard you, Ralof."

"And you, Lia." The Stormcloak vanished into the undergrowth, leaving her alone all in the vast Skyrim wilderness.

_I'll go to Falkreath instead and see if they have horses for sale. Carriage-drivers talk, after all…_

She had failed in one mission, but she could yet succeed in another. Sooner or later a Dragonborn would be revealed and she would advise him any way she could.


End file.
